


The Christmas Party

by Rinja



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinja/pseuds/Rinja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Count has a hard time dealing with Christmas and takes some of his mood out on Albert. A little snow and a simple confession help to smooth things over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap, finally posting things. I actually wrote this in 2008, and it's for my broski Kassie. I printed it out and shoved it in her Christmas present like a loser. Albert/Count relationship kinda implied.

When the Count had told Bertuccio and Baptistin to procure Christmas decorations, he hadn’t, for some reason, expected the extravagance that resulted. Though everything he did, honestly, was over the top due to his inexhaustible funds, Christmas, he had supposed, would be as it always had been – a delicately decorated tree, with few presents beneath it and a few extra candles about to light up the cold innards of the house. Upon returning from some monetary business, however, he found his home transformed. Garlands traced every banister, candles and ornaments hung light on a massive tree in the foyer, and everything seemed to sparkle. He took one look at it all and went to his room, leaving his servants confused as they finished putting the star on the top of the tree.

His absence for the rest of the day was odd, but not entirely concerning. Bertuccio, Baptistin, and Haydèe knew well enough that, if he shut himself up in his room wordlessly, nothing could be done to disturb him. And so the Count was left to mull on his own until he heard the sound of hooves on the drive outside and realized that he had somewhere to be. Of course, the Morcerfs were holding a Christmas party that he had been invited to, and he was expected to appear in less than a quarter hour. With a sigh, he readied himself alone and, placing his hat atop his head and grabbing his cane, he left his home and entered his carriage without glancing at the festivities filling his establishment. 

The Count’s arrival was well expected and, upon his entrance, throngs of people flocked to him as per usual. He bore this well, as he always did, but slowly his surroundings began to sink in and, after having greeted Mercedès and such companions as Maximilian, the trees and lights started to feel like too much. Especially the sight of Mercedès, so changed from their Yuletide years ago, induced a sort of nausea in him. Just as he had felt at home, all of this was suffocating and unnecessary. He now had more reason than ever to refuse the eggnog that no one had expected him to take in the first place. The man slunk to a corner of the room, under-populated due to its proximity to the bristling branches of the tree. 

It was not long before young Albert de Morcerf found his much-adored companion, and immediately he became troubled at the other’s appearance. Even with the blue hue of the Count’s complexion, he’d still become obviously pale and his thumb was pressed to his temple, fingers slid across his eyes to shield them from the light. 

“Count?” the young man asked, hesitant to speak too loudly for fear of further aggravating his condition. Monte Cristo slowly lifted his head at the voice of Albert, moving his hand from his eyes to force a disarming smile. 

“Ah, Albert. I was wondering where you had hidden yourself,” he lied smoothly. All he’d been thinking about was the best way to remove himself from the over-stimulation. However, he assumed saying ‘Your house is likely to cause my head to explode’ wasn’t the best way to greet the young man.

Albert, with his gentle, concerned frown, lightly took the Count’s arm in his hand and led him towards the garden door. “You don’t appear well. It is a bit cramped in here…maybe some air will do you good…”

Outside the Count did find his apprehension wane. There were few lights – the guests stayed inside due to the biting cold of the Parisian winter, so there was little need to light the outdoors much. Albert’s eyes immediately went skyward, drawn there by youthful fascination with frontiers and mysteries.

“It’s a beautiful night. It’s funny how everyone would rather avoid the cold than enjoy this.”

The flippant comment caused something inside the Count to rear its ugly head, and none too quietly. Perhaps he had not fully recovered from the indoors, or maybe Gankutsuou was hungry with all the happiness that surrounded him. Whatever the case was, malice almost immediately filled him.

“Truly,” the Count replied, “but since when have humans made good decisions? We,” (a ghost of a smile passed over his lips – he, a human? Laughable.) “choose to poison our bodies on a regular basis. We throw our lives away for frivolous fancies and create chasms between ourselves and those we love merely because a minor detail no longer suits us.”

With these comments Albert’s childish joy at the night sky and the freshness of the air dissipated, leaving merely a frown and furrowed brows. The Count cleared his throat at this sight, not having intended such a reaction. He hadn’t really intended anything; he had merely let his mood speak for him. The young boy shifted, his eyes momentarily resting on Monte Cristo before finding a plant to focus on in the distance.

“…what a horrible way to look at things,” he finally said, the end of the sentence punctuated with a sigh.

“I can find the beauty in objects. In nature and in weather, also, it is not hard to find. But I find it difficult at times to locate the beauty in humans. There are so many sickening flaws. So…”

But Albert interjected before he could finish, frustration touching at his voice as he spoke. 

“And what? These flaws can’t be beautiful? Or overlooked? It would be terrible, to live in a world without flaw.”

“Because, you believe, we would be undefined?”

“Because then our triumphs would mean nothing. Undefined? No, flaws do not define the man. No wonder you see the world as such, if that’s what you believe.”

Flaws. It was true that that was all the Count saw, at times. Mercedès’s faithlessness, Fernand’s selfishness, and his own overwhelming desire for revenge that had rid him almost completely of his humanity – all of these haunted him. And yet here Albert stood, claiming that they were not defined by these traits. He almost scoffed. Such a child, so unaware of the world. Humans were all just entities, shaped and molded by their short-comings and mistakes. How could there be beauty, real, inner beauty, in something that was distinct only in its wrong-doing?

He could not find the strength to say these things out loud, however. Not with the look on Albert’s face. With just that simple expression, the young man robbed the Count of any sharp retort he might have had. He looked so…solemn and beyond his years. Was that really what he, Edmond Dantès, had come to? Making 15 year-olds feel like they were 30 at a Christmas ball? Telling children, during what was supposedly a happy season, to cast off what they believed in naively and almost…beautifully about the goodness of humans in exchange for a stilted world view that only had room for discontentment and vengeance? Sickening. No wonder he could no longer find beauty in those around him – he himself was tainted. This was all too much. The dull lights that had at first seemed like an escape now felt pressuring and leering, suggesting, in their faintness, that they lurked to watch and judge him from afar. The nausea from inside welled up again in him, and he turned to go.

But he was surprised to find that Albert caught his arm as he moved, though the boy did not turn his head away from the spot he had chosen to focus on earlier. The Count did not fight this but did not return to his position next to the viscount either, remaining in limbo with the boy’s warm fingers curled about his arm. 

“…I’m surprised you don’t want me to leave.”

“I never want you to leave.”

With these words the two looked at one another, almost stunned by them. It was not so much that they both hadn’t supposed the comment to be true when it was unsaid, but the simplicity with which it was pronounced made its impact all the stronger. Albert finally released the Count’s arm, looking almost ashamed as he did so. Monte Cristo couldn’t help but linger now, however, and so he did, entranced still by the idea of the words already said.

It was about then that a light, gentle snow began to fall. It was serene and, though snowfall isn’t typically a noisy affair, the freeness with which it glided down gave an impression of utter quiet. Albert blinked up into the sky, the flakes, which began to stick on the surrounding greenery, catching on his lashes as well. He breathed in a deep sigh that, when released, sent swirls of visible breath flitting about in a dance with the falling flakes. The Count was almost mystified and froze, watching this sight that was so normal and so genuine. 

Edmond did not expect to find himself calm at the oppressive party, which only reminded him of how corrupted most everything in his life felt; this was a party that had already caused him to flee outdoors, and had only moments before caused disgust to swell in him. And yet, here he was, his anxiety melting away as he studied Albert. He was less crushed by the invisible weight he always bore with him. It was Christmas, properly, once again. Distant noise from the inside party, few lights, no one but him and his companion, and a little bit of Paris snow. This simplicity utterly defined what the holiday should have always been, and always would be in what was left of his heart. 

Monte Cristo leaned over to Albert, causing the young boy to turn his head towards him in surprise. He kissed the boy’s lashes, barely feeling the cold snowflakes that still rested there disintegrate on his lips that, in such cold, felt almost warm. The younger boy’s cheeks warmed and reddened, the earlier argument forgotten in that instant. It took him a few moments to find his words again, but when he did he spoke deliberately.

“…will you stay for the rest of the party, then?”

“I will not go back inside. It only reminds me of things I’d rather forget. But out here? Yes, I’ll stay. As long as you stay here with me.”


End file.
